With once again forced to retreat to his East Coast lair to undertake a significant rewrite of his epic Promotion Masterplan, and previous stand-in Supremoette boasting a recent results record that would make Mick McCarthy blush, it was time to find someone else to sit in the temporary hot-seat.

The brief was a daunting one. Someone ruthless was required, a no-nonsense man of action who was used to working with a circus full of clowns, but who could fashion a golden machine out of a rag-bag collection of bits and pieces. With the striking profligacy of recent weeks, the club badly needed someone who could disseminate the art of lethal and unerring marksmanship to that band of bumbling barn-door merchants who considered themselves strikers. , for example, who passed himself off as the team's main shooter, but who had contrived to spurn three chances from a cumulative distance of 13 yards in the previous game against Welham.

It was a big ask, and was forced to spend a number of days entering the complicated assignment criteria into LARA. But after much whirring of disc drives and flashing of lights, the corporate resourcing tool finally managed to identify an employee who matched these specialist requirements, and proudly displayed the solitary name on the Supreme screen: "". Of course! There was no obvious or immediate use for the third nipple, but was sure it would come in handy one day.

But just as suddenly the was awash with doubts. Would the world's most feared assassin, who had left the KGB after not finding the job exciting enough, really be interested in the admittedly challenging assignment of getting Logica through to the quarter-finals of the Ron Le Beau Challenge Trophy against their vaguely arch-ish nemesis West Six? decided to spice up the role. First he picked a squad containing only one recognised defender: . Then he conducted an undercover sabotage mission from his Queenstown Road nerve-centre, trashing so much rail track that not a single train would be able to run in South London on Sunday morning. Finally he neglected to tell the opposition about the earlier kick-off time (perhaps).

Even after all this, suffered a further last minute attack of nerves. Paranoid that the task would still prove too simple for the new man, he travelled incognito to the ambassador's reception (or some such), and unobtrusively slipped a capsule containing a near-lethal cocktail of runny-nose-inducing drugs into drink. Come Sunday morning, was duly deprived of his last defender.

But with the calmness of an experienced operative, 's feathers remained completely unruffled throughout the ensuing crises. "No trains, ? We'll send a car to pick you up" (he didn't, but the ageing marksman's fragile ego had been massaged nonetheless). No opposition? Not a problem. A series of gentle but traditional twat-the-ball-wide-of-the-goal warm-up exercises for those that were interested, whilst the remainder were free to huddle under the Stade's highly prized dressing room wall heaters. No defenders? Well, myself and will just have to step into the breach.

It was perhaps this last tactical masterstroke that proved most significant. and strode like giants amongst visiting forwards who only six weeks earlier had looked a tricky handful for some proper defenders in a comfortable 3-1 league victory for Six at the Stade. Both players looked naturals as they won almost everything in the air and invariably positioned themselves astutely in exactly the right place to cut out any sporadic danger. And as succinctly predicted in the pre-match team talk, the rare presence of skilful ball-players in the rearguard enabled Logica to build from the back via some neat passing.

This pair were ably assisted by their full-backs. , making his first start of the season, played a blinder and allowed the West winger little room for manoeuvre, whilst proved himself both adept and combative in yet another position - this time at left-back. even found time in the second half to embark on a dazzling dribble down the right-flank, beating two men before firing in a dangerous cross from the bye-line that really deserved to be converted.

Logica spent much of the first half struggling to come to terms with the fact that they were by far the better side, and were playing some neat attacking football. The approach play was skilful, visionary and swift, with and once again rejoined into a dangerous creative hub. With Buck full of energy, dribbles and tackling menace down the right, and 's pace a constant threat on the left, chances were created with some regularity.

started the ball rolling by picking out on the edge of the box with a precisely chipped pass. The striker laid the ball off first time to the marauding , but the midfielder's volley from 20 yards was too close to the keeper. The accursed Captain himself then flashed a curly drive just over the angle of cross-bar and back stick, before lobbed a precision long ball from into the mixer only for Buck to head narrowly wide. The mature striker was then played clear by a badly misplaced pass from a Six defender, but after ambling forwards, he decided to play the ball on to because (a) he is a generous and unselfish team-player oblivious to personal glory, or (b) he realised he was just too slow to make it into the box before a defender caught him. In any event, the pass was slightly over-hit, and with the Sheffielder forced wide, the chance was gone.

But the best chance of the half fell to . was swift into the tackle on the right, and the loose ball rebounded into a huge gap in the penalty area, with only the Logica left-winger in the vicinity. seemed taken by surprise at the time at his disposal, and perhaps had too much of it in which to select his finish of choice, for his eventual side-footed shot was brilliantly tipped behind by the Six keeper.

There was still time for a speculative shot after another visionary through-ball from , but his first-time effort from distance, which he had hoped would sail over a stranded keeper, only bobbled lamely wide. The danger at half-time was that Logica heads would drop as they pondered just how a such a host of good chances resulting from their considerable domination had failed to give them the lead.

The signs looked ominous when West started the second period in forceful fashion, but , Brown and co held firm. Logica quickly got back up to speed and resumed the carving out of good chances at the other end. had replaced on the left, and now got himself into a good position to cross low and dangerously into the box. was in the right place, and connected well with a low left-foot shot on the turn, but somehow the Six keeper managed to deflect the ball over the bar with a trailing foot.

Finally, though, the breakthrough came, and ironically it was the man with the golden gun who supplied the ammunition. A West Six attack foundered and pounced on the loose ball to hit a beautiful low 40 yard pass to pick out in acres of space on the left. The man in the red boots mustered some pace from somewhere and bore down on goal. But old habits die hard, and his instinctive belief that a goal is not a proper goal without some element of elaborate fannying, found him loitering just long enough to tempt a desperate lunge from a back-tracking defender as feigned to shoot. Nipping adroitly inside the attempted tackle, he kept his old head to side-foot precisely into the corner, and at last Logica had the lead [1-0].

The game should have been up shortly afterwards, when a good move saw Buck's cross from the right loop up off a Six boot. The ball headed goalwards and with closing in, the Keeper flapped unconvincingly to palm the ball against the post. Somehow the Six gloveman managed to block 's header from the rebound, but as the ball rolled invitingly across the goalmouth side-footed wide, perhaps distracted by a desperate lunge from a defender at the last moment.

Such repeated offences were bound eventually to be punished, and West Six finally scrambled a scarcely deserved equaliser after a dubious free-kick was awarded 20 yards out. The danger should have passed when the dead-ball was tapped too far in front of the intended executioner, but the ball was still somehow poked forwards and one of two unmarked West Six shooters at the far post gleefully rammed home from point-blank range [1-1].

This could easily have been the moment when Logica's self-belief finally evaporated, but they held firm in the face of a rejuvenated West Six team buoyed by an unlikely life-line. The make-shift back four remained rock-like, and was still not called upon to make any significant saves. Indeed it was Logica who pressed with more conviction in the last fifteen minutes as the visitors continued to become increasingly irate. Six's frustration boiled over at every decision awarded, and a wild West midfielder was lucky to only see yellow after a torrent of abuse directed at the man in black followed an innocuous free-kick decision in Logica's favour on half-way.

But Logica couldn't convert their impressive build-up play into clear-cut chances, and the referee's whistle soon ushered in the dreaded extra time. The first period passed off nervously with little goalmouth action, before Logica rallied themselves for one last charge in a bid to avoid the penalty-kick lottery. Some concerted pressure continually stretched the Six back-line, before the move of the match so nearly culminated in the decisive strike.

The build-up was again neat and slick, and slid a pass into arcing his run into the channel. The wily forward let the ball run through his legs and turned sharply to burst clear of his marker before pulling back an inviting low cross from the bye-line. had anticipated it all, but was aghast to see his crisply hit side-foot from six yards ping back off the inside of a post. The rebound hit the sprawling keeper on the back of the head, but even then fortune favoured Six, and the ball was somehow scrambled off the line.

To his credit, persisted and when flicked the ball on with just three minutes left, it was the Yorkshireman who latched onto it. Pushing the ball past the last defender, sped clear into the box. One final prod forwards was well ahead of a desperate sliding tackle from the Six man, and was unceremoniously decked for what was as clear-cut a penalty as you could hope to see. This did not stop the West defender getting to his feet with a look of mock disbelief, before brazenly insisting that he had made contact with the ball.

The Six keeper then indulged in some blatant gamesmanship by insisting the penalty spot was not central, a ploy the referee enthusiastically fell for, as the pair debated at some length exactly where the ball should be spotted. This gave ample time to consider his recent Biactol Award, and with it the gravity of the kick he was about to take, on which a place in the quarter-finals surely rested. But the experienced striker held his nerve, and once all the distractions had ceased, drove his penalty emphatically into the bottom corner, sending the prevaricating keeper the wrong way into the bargain [2-1].

There was still time for a few scares. A desperate Six forced a corner that shouldn't have been, but leapt like a heroic salmon to head the ball clear from under his own bar. And with virtually the last kick of the game, the visiting left back fired in a vicious low cross-come-shot which somehow avoided contact with any flying boots, and thankfully flew inches wide of the far post. After what seemed like an eternity, but was only three minutes, the referee blew his whistle for the final time.

Logica were indisputably the better team and had played some fine football into the bargain, but had still rode their luck after spurning a plethora of chances that really should have made for a comfortable victory. However, even the West Six players cannot have been as depressed as the bookies at the final whistle after a weekend that had seen two goals from Peter Crouch, the same from , and a home victory for Logica at the Stade with as captain. Now what were the odds on that?!